


A Good Sort of Pain

by salacious_crumpet



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salacious_crumpet/pseuds/salacious_crumpet
Summary: Theron Shan is a walking disaster whose relationships always go down in flames. The Hero of Tython is a galactic saviour who’s hiding the fact that she’s barely holding herself together. Of course they’re in each other’s orbits. (Spoilers for the Jedi Knight storyline and Shadows of Revan, possibly more spoilers as this continues.)A/N: This was going to be a chaptered story but I've decided to end it here. Apologies to anyone waiting for it to be continued.





	

Theron Shan made no effort to disguise his relief when Lana Beniko stepped out to organize transportation for their upcoming mission. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was running on fumes and barely holding himself together, and it was next to impossible to maintain his composure forever with Lana looking on. He didn’t have the energy to deal with the Sith Lord at the moment – or at the very least, he didn’t have it in him to confront her over his suspicions regarding her involvement in his recent tenure as a Revanite punching bag. He knew he would need to speak with her soon, but … “soon” could come later. Jakarro and C2-D4 left with Lana, the wookiee and the droid-head arguing back and forth about whether or not the native species on Rishi were edible, and that was another source of constant irritation gone for the time being. The two of them were useful – entertaining, even – but Theron didn’t have the energy for them, either. Once the lot of them had cleared out it was just Theron and the Jedi Master Cassarie Roh, the so-called “Hero of Tython.” She was looking at him with concern – or was it pity? – and Theron didn’t feel like dealing with her, but the expression on her face suggested he would be hard-pressed to be rid of her.

Besides, it would be … _ungracious_ of him to kick her out. The damned woman had saved his life, after all, hadn’t she?

Theron was under no illusions that he could have made it out of the Sky Ridge Island compound on his own. He had done well to escape his captors, but he was hurt and exhausted, and the island had been overrun with enemies. Enemies that the woman in front of him had apparently taken down with relative ease, tearing through them like they were made of wet flimsi.

Well, and why not? Rumour had it this woman had killed the Sith Emperor. Theron knew for a fact she had led the Republic forces on Corellia to victory, and she wasn’t called the Hero of Tython in jest. Stars, he had witnessed the results of her amazing competency when she had assisted him and Lana on Manaan, and before that, in the raid and counter-raid on Korriban and Tython. None of that really compared to watching her in action, though, up close and personal. What he had seen in the Sky Ridge Island Revanite compound had been … something else.

For all of that, Master Cassarie Roh certainly didn’t look like a hardened warrior and battle commander. Theron suspected she was younger than he was – although only by a few years at most – and she was a surprisingly tiny thing. He towered over her and probably outweighed her by a fair margin, too. Her features were youthful and serene in a way that reminded him (somewhat uncomfortably) of his mother, if only in the sense that there was something unmistakably “Jedi” about her – a measure of composure and resolve that the Grand Master shared. Where Satele Shan was cool and aloof, however, Cassarie Roh was bright and warm and engaging. Satele was dark-haired and grey-eyed; Cassarie, on the other hand, had long blonde curls and clear green eyes. It was like comparing moonlight to sunlight.

Realizing that he was staring at her, Theron cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away, pretending to focus his attention on his ever-present datapad. He could feel her looking at him, although there was something unhurried and undemanding about her regard. He thought she could tell that he wanted to speak with her, that she was waiting for him to do so, but that she was in no rush.

Theron cleared his throat again and grabbed onto the first subject that came to mind, which was his concerns regarding Lana’s possible treachery. All too easy to focus on that, given that there wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t hurt as a direct result of it. He opened his mouth to speak only for the words to come out as a garbled groan when something in his side clenched up. He doubled over, fighting the sudden urge to vomit – which absolutely _would not help_ his aching ribs in the slightest – and the room spun around him rather alarmingly.

Before Theron could go crashing face-first to the ground he felt strong arms wrapping around him, and Cassarie was helping him to sit on the nearest chair, all but supporting his full weight against herself with relative ease in spite of their differences in size. He sat and fought back against the waves of pain and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You need to get these injuries taken care of,” Cassarie said. There was no accusation or anger in her voice, just concern. “You should be in a kolto tank!”

Theron tried to brush her hands away and shook his head. “There’s no time for that now. You need –”

“Theron.” He opened his eyes to find Cassarie leaning down in front of him, her worried face inches from his own. She smiled, but it was more of a quirk of the corner of her mouth than anything more genuine, and for the first time he noticed the fine lines of pain and exhaustion around her mouth and eyes. “If you won’t get to a med centre, at least let me call Doc here.”

The last thing Theron wanted was for Cassarie’s arrogant medic to join them. As much as he respected the man’s skills, Theron wasn’t in any mood to watch the doctor flirt with her – or Lana, or Force forbid Satele when she inevitably showed up – and expound on all the heroic ventures he and Cassarie had taken part in together. It was clear that Doc had a thing for Cassarie (or, at the very least, he desired her in the same way he seemed to desire basically every other woman he happened across), and on the list of things Theron didn’t feel like putting up with right now, Doc’s attempts at wooing the Jedi Master ranked fairly high. Besides that, Theron seemed to recall Cassarie mentioning that Doc was over in Raider’s Cove, treating the poor in the slums, and _that,_ at least, was something Theron could respect. No sense in dragging the doctor all the way to their island safe house when the man was actually off doing something worthwhile.

“I told you, it’s fine,” Theron lied smoothly. “I’m fine. We don’t have time for this.”

Cassarie sighed, lowering her head. For a moment he thought she would acquiesce, but then she looked up at him again and he saw a new light of resolve in her eyes. At the same time, however, Theron couldn’t help but notice the way that exhaustion seemed to echo throughout every line of her body and face, and he felt guilty for the sense of urgency he was trying to place upon her.

“Fine, Theron,” she said simply, straightening in front of him. “But I’m tired and I’ve got injuries of my own to tend to, so if you won’t take care of yourself, would you at least help _me?”_

Theron blinked at her, confused, and Cassarie continued with a small grin, “Theron, I’ve been working nonstop for the past three days to get you back. I haven’t slept, I’ve barely eaten, and as much as I’m flattered by how everyone seems to think I’m unstoppable I _did_ just fight my way through a heavily fortified compound full of angry cultists. They didn’t let me just waltz in through the front doors, you know.”

“You’re hurt,” Theron said, suddenly comprehending what she was telling him. He tried to stand up and give her his seat, but the combination of his own injuries and exhaustion, in addition to her firm hands on his shoulders keeping him in place, meant he wasn’t going anywhere. “I should …”

“Tell you what.” Cassarie quirked a wry grin at him, green eyes lit with mischief. “I’ll do you if you do me?”

A warm flush filled Theron as days of lighthearted flirting suddenly caught up to him at her casual suggestion, and if he hadn’t been so damned tired and sore he might have had the presence of mind to make some kind of suggestive remark. As it was, though, the best he could summon up was an exhausted smirk of his own, the smile tugging at his split lip.

“Best offer I’ve had in days,” he finally managed to reply, giving her a wink.

Cassarie blushed, hanging her head again in what had become her standard response to their flirtations. It was a strange mixture with her. She was almost always the instigator, making a suggestive comment here or giving him a sultry look there, and she certainly seemed receptive to his own flirtatious remarks, but in the end it almost always resulted in her growing embarrassed and looking away. Theron sometimes wondered if perhaps she didn’t realize she was flirting with him, or if maybe it was just some sort of amusing pastime for her – which was _fine,_ as far as he was concerned; flirting didn’t _have_ to lead anywhere, after all. But to him it almost seemed as if Cassarie didn’t know whether she was comfortable with it going anywhere, or if she was perhaps too rigid in her adherence to the Jedi Code. He certainly knew – probably better than most, given his own personal history – that Jedi could engage in sexual activities, but he knew that many preferred not to, opting to avoid the risk of attachment that typically accompanied physical intimacy. He just didn’t know where _she_ stood on the subject, and the mixed signals he received from her gave him little indication either way.

“I think I might need stitches,” she commented, after a moment’s hesitation, straightening in front of him and turning slightly to show him her back. “I’m flexible, but I don’t think I’m _that_ flexible.” Her tone, again, was light and flirtatious, suggesting she was clearly aware of the implications of what she was saying. At the same time, though, Theron could see the nervousness in her, and as she turned his attention was immediately focused on the spreading red stain on the back of her white tunic.

“Shit, you’re bleeding!” This time he did manage to stand up, although his ribs protested the movement and his head began spinning again. Concern for her outweighed his own sense of self-preservation, however, and he caught at the edge of her tunic, lifting it just enough to see a nasty slash on her lower back. To say the wound was bleeding was perhaps a bit too strong: the wound _had_ bled, but appeared to have stopped although the blood was still sticky and warm. She was in no immediate danger from the injury, but it had to have been painful.

“So we have a deal then?” Cassarie replied, stepping away before he could examine the wound more closely. “You patch me up, I patch you up?”

Realizing she wasn’t likely to take no for an answer – and impressed at how easily she had secured his compliance – Theron nodded at her. He could hardly refuse her offer when she was obviously in need of medical attention herself. Besides, he wouldn’t put it past the Jedi to knock him unconscious and _then_ treat his wounds. She was an agreeable woman, but he sensed there was a limit to how much self-sacrifice she was going to allow him to make, and apparently letting him run around with cracked ribs and Force only knew what other injuries he had far exceeded her limit.

It struck Theron then, as Cassarie went about gathering the necessary supplies, that this woman had come to his rescue, and that she was persisting in saving him as though she had made it one of her life’s missions to protect him. (As if she didn’t already have enough on her slender shoulders. Theron could have warned her that taking care of him was a full-time job all on its own.) He had told her already that he wasn’t used to working as part of a team, and when the Revanites had captured him Theron had not expected any sort of assistance. That was why he had made the effort to escape on his own, even knowing his injuries were too great to let him get very far. He certainly hadn’t expected Lana to come to his aid, nor had he held out hope that his mother would send in the cavalry. Theron tried to quash the familiar sense of bitterness that sprang to mind when he thought of his mother – or Lana Beniko, for that matter – but the knowledge that his own allies would have happily hung him out to dry stung more than a little.

And then there was Cassarie. She had charged headlong into the Revanite compound to break him out, and while no doubt she was there for other purposes - certainly Lana had given her other targets to focus on, other information to gather or acts of sabotage to engage in – she had done it for him. By her own admission she had gone days without sleep or sustenance to bring him home alive, and the injuries she had sustained on Sky Ridge Island had been taken on his behalf. It was humbling.

It was heartwarming.

It was heart _breaking._

Theron swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, closing his eyes against a sudden rush of unwanted tears. He told himself he was just overwrought as the result of torture and deprivation, and this emotional response – the urge to break down in sobs – had nothing to do with the disappointment he felt at knowing his own mother wouldn’t have lifted a hand to do what this near-complete stranger had done without hesitation. He had long ago resolved his feelings for Satele Shan and the choices she had made regarding him, but still, it was hard. Harder than he would have expected.

Cassarie’s hand came to rest on his shoulder momentarily, strong fingers squeezing in an obvious gesture of sympathy and support before releasing him again. She came to stand in front of him, her face carefully expressionless.

“All right, jacket off,” she ordered him, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.

“Are you trying to get me naked, Master Jedi?” Theron returned teasingly, trying to recover his own composure by putting her off-balance.

For a moment he thought it had worked. Cassarie blinked, blushing again, and opened her mouth to demur before one corner of her lips turned upwards in a smirk.

“You wish, Shan,” she retorted.

“I do, actually.” He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but once he had it seemed like his response was far more effective in knocking the Jedi off-balance than his earlier attempt had been. He had spoken quietly but the room was silent and Cassarie was standing directly in front of him; there was no way she hadn’t heard him. She lowered her head, swallowing hard, and Theron saw the way her fair cheeks flushed. Then she straightened her shoulders again and gave him a level look, wordlessly motioning for him to get on with it.

Resigned, Theron tugged at the sleeve of his red leatheris jacket, intending to pull his arm out. The movement hurt more than he expected, however, and he froze, cursing under his breath. Cassarie let out a huff of breath and moved behind him, deftly easing him out of his jacket before folding it neatly and placing it on the holocomm station. She gave him a moment to recover, then helped him with the ruins of his shirt, stripping him to the waist without further comment. He was uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since his last wash, and that he stank, reeking of body odor, blood and other filth. He tried not to feel embarrassed about it; after all, it wasn’t as if the Revanites had given him bathroom breaks in between bouts of electrocutions and beatings, and private time in a ‘fresher hadn’t been one of the luxuries provided to him. Still, he wasn’t particularly thrilled that the first time Cassarie saw him half-naked, it was while he stank of piss and fear.

 _Way to make an impression, Shan,_ Theron thought, closing his eyes as if he could somehow ease his humiliation by pretending she wasn’t there.

“How are you still conscious?” Cassarie murmured, sounding both surprised and faintly admiring. If she noticed how filthy he was – and that close, how could she _not?_ – she was mercifully silent on the matter, focusing instead on his injuries rather than his hygiene (or present lack thereof). Theron was about to ask her what she was talking about when light hands pressed against a particularly tender spot on his back, and he let out a harsh grunt of pain.

He didn’t reply, but she didn’t seem to expect a response. Instead, the Jedi ran her hands over his wounds, fingers gentle but probing. He realized there must not be a med-scanner in her kit, and so she was forced to assess his injuries through other means.

“I’m sorry, I’m not particularly good at Force-healing,” she said quietly. Theron bit back a harsh retort and forced himself to stay still as she began rubbing kolto over the worst of his bruises; she was incredibly gentle, but it still hurt when she came into contact with the skin over his cracked ribs. He couldn’t prevent himself from stiffening and flinching, and she apologized again, making him roll his eyes.

“We’re gonna be here a long time if you’re going to apologize every time this hurts,” he commented, gritting his teeth around another pained grunt.

Cassarie was silent, but he could sense her fighting down the instinct to murmur apologies at him every few seconds. She worked quietly, movements deft and confident, smoothing kolto over his cuts and bruises, bandaging his ribs. Theron had no doubt that the Jedi had a lot of experience in patching someone up, and wondered if she had acquired that experience by working on her crewmates or on herself, and if she had learned what to do from Doc. Thinking about the Jedi’s overly persistent medic annoyed Theron, so he tried to think about something else, only for the constant press on his injuries to force his mind onto other, decidedly less pleasant subjects.

Lana had almost certainly arranged for him to be taken. It shouldn’t have surprised Theron – she was, after all, a Sith Lord, even if she was remarkably reasonable and sane. The betrayal stung, especially since if she had simply _told_ him her plan Theron would have been more than willing to go along with it. Not that he was particularly keen about handing himself over to be tortured, but he understood the value in it, and as annoyed as he was by what Lana had done he had to admit that he had been able to acquire a significant amount of valuable information during his captivity. Theron was SIS – or he had been, before the Revanites had turned him into a “rogue, disavowed agent” – he knew how these ops worked. It’s just that normally he was involved in the planning, and could enter into the assignment of his own choice, with eyes wide open.

“It might help you to talk about it.” Cassarie’s voice was quiet, free from pity or accusation, but Theron stiffened, clenching his jaw.

“What would you know about it?” he snapped, even as a part of him scolded him for directing his anger at the one person who had helped him. He was hurting and he was angry, and the Jedi was his only available target.

Cassarie was silent for a moment as she continued to tend to his injuries. When she spoke, her voice was still quiet and calm, but Theron could detect a faint thread of hurt in it, combined with a distinct note of sarcasm. “Ah, yes, because I’ve never once been the victim of torture and abuse. I’m sure the SIS has a fairly extensive file on me. You must have read about all the kittens and rainbows in my past.”

Theron grimaced, closing his eyes, ashamed of himself. Of course he had read Cassarie’s file – he had specifically reached out to her because of that file – and he knew better than most what she had been through. While no Jedi could be said to have had a normal life and upbringing, Cassarie’s history was unusual even for typical Jedi. Her training on Tython had been interrupted by a Flesh Raider incursion and a fallen Jedi, propelling her from the standard trials into immediate action, and then she had raced around the galaxy trying to dismantle super-weapons and stop the Sith. Never mind that this was the woman who had killed the Sith Emperor. She wasn’t known as the “Hero of Tython” for nothing.

“Lots of gaps in that file,” he said softly, thinking about the months after she and a handful of powerful Jedi had gone to try and capture the Emperor, when she had been simply _gone._ There was no record of what had happened to her, although Theron vaguely recalled that there had been inquiries. There had almost certainly been some sort of cover-up regarding what had befallen her and the other Jedi, but the details were above of Theron's pay-grade.

“No,” Cassarie replied, not looking at him, “Just one gap about six months long. Before and after my time with the Emperor, my life is an open book.”

“And have _you_ talked about it?” Theron asked her, trying – and failing, _miserably_ – to keep the note of accusation out of his voice.

Cassarie drew in a sudden, tight breath, her hands going still. She pulled away from Theron and stood, taking a few steps away from him, facing the wall instead of him. He immediately wanted to go to her and apologize, but he was afraid he would just make the situation worse. He didn’t need to be Force sensitive to pick up the waves of pain and anger radiating off her.

When she finally turned back to him her face was composed once again, although he could see the fine lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. She looked resolute, that typical Jedi serenity – which he found so aggravating in his mother and yet so remarkably calming in Cassarie – back in place.

“I spent six months in the service of the Emperor,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. “When I … escaped” – the way she said the word suggested to Theron that ‘escaped’ wasn’t precisely what she meant, but would have to suffice – “I found out that my fellow Jedi, the ones who accompanied me to the Emperor’s fortress, had also been taken and had not been able to break his control. There was no time for me to be … be _weak_ and admit my failings. As soon as I was free I had to hunt down the others, and when we found them … They had been with the Emperor for _so much longer,_ they were _so much worse_ than I had been … They needed help far more than I did. I wasn’t going to ask anyone to waste time and effort on me when Warren, Braga and Leeha needed it so much more. So no, Theron, I have _not_ talked about it.”

Theron held his breath, suspecting that Cassarie was confessing to him what she had not told another living soul. He hadn’t meant to force this conversation and there was a part of him that felt tremendously guilty – and vaguely voyeuristic – that Cassarie was sharing it now. He felt like he had manipulated her into an admission that she had not wanted to give, but now that she was speaking he was desperately afraid of interrupting her, worried that she would stop and that this long-overdue confession would end.

“So I lied, Theron,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to his internal struggle. “I told the Jedi Council – I told your mother – that I didn’t remember anything that had happened while I was gone. But I do. I do remember. I remember _everything,_ everything I did, everything that was done to me, all of it, every moment I spent as the Emperor’s puppet. There are times when something … a smell, a sound, a taste … draws me back there, and I forget where I am and what I’m doing and it’s like … it’s like something in my mind is tripped and I’m trapped back up on that fortress with him … And I have to catch myself, to pull myself out of it, because nobody can know about this, they can’t see this weakness or they won’t be able to believe in me, they’ll know the truth, and I’ll be stuck back on Tython with all the other broken, used-up Jedi …”

 _Post-traumatic stress disorder._ The words sounded too clinical in Theron’s mind, too clean and sterile to accurately express what Cassarie was describing, and yet he knew from her descriptions that PTSD was exactly what she was experiencing. He found himself amazed that she had been able to hide it from him so long – not just from him, but also from Lana, who was not only a powerful Sith but also an incredibly perceptive person. At the same time, however, now that he knew, Theron could recall moments, glimpses, where the things Cassarie had done or said hadn’t added up, and which now made sense if she was struggling with the trauma of what she had experienced while under the Emperor’s control. The Jedi Order must be in complete disarray if her fellow Jedi hadn't noticed how hard Cassarie was struggling - or perhaps they were all so blinded by her reputation as the Hero of Tython that they were willing to overlook their Hero's turmoil.

She moved in close again, looking down at him, her expression troubled.

“Sometimes I forget the Jedi Code,” she admitted, a faraway look in her eyes, “and it’s the Sith Code I remember instead, or I’ll mix the two of them up, combine them. He made me do things … _want_ things … Things Jedi aren’t supposed to do or want.”

She was so damned close Theron could feel her warmth through their clothing, and in spite of his own pain and exhaustion he was aware of the way his body was responding to her. Months of flirtation and witty banter between the two of them combined with the natural high he typically experienced following combat or danger – the body’s primitive urge to flee, fight … or fuck.

“What sorts of things?” he asked, a rough note in his voice.

Cassarie was short enough that with him sitting she barely had to lower her head to press her lips to his. Theron was surprised by her response, but his hands quickly went up to wrap around her and pull her in closer, and then her hands were cupping his jaw and her mouth was on his. Her lips were soft and warm and there was none of the hesitation or uncertainty he had noticed earlier when she was flirting with him. Instead she seemed to know exactly what she wanted – and he was more than willing to go along.

Until she pressed a little too hard against him and the pressure on his split lip caused him to flinch in pain. Then she suddenly pulled back and the look on her face was almost panic-stricken.

“That,” she whispered, her breath warm on his face.

Theron was confused. “That? Kissing? There’s nothing wrong with –”

“No.” Cassarie silenced him with a finger to his lips, then slowly and deliberately pressed down over the painful cut, making him wince again. “ _That._ I hurt you, and I _liked_ that I hurt you, and I want to do it again and … Jedi aren’t supposed to want that.”

“You didn’t really hurt me,” Theron interjected quickly, lifting his head up to kiss her again. She met him, making some kind of helpless moan as she did so, and his hands tightened on her waist. Then she was sliding onto his lap, her hands threading through his hair, and he really didn’t give a shit if he had cracked ribs or that the kolto hadn’t quite kicked in yet because this had been a long time coming between the two of them.

Her mouth was warm and insistent, his lips parting beneath the pressure of her tongue easing inside his mouth to brush tentatively against his tongue. She tasted like vanilla and spice and a slight coppery tang of blood, and Theron knew it was likely his own blood he was tasting, that his split lip was bleeding and his ribs were aching but damned if he didn’t want this to go on forever. He was exhausted and hurting and yet there was something about the woman in his arms that made Theron feel as though all his reserves were being replenished, like she was sunshine that poured into all the dark places in his mind and spirit to chase away the shadows.

Cassarie drew back slightly, running the tip of her tongue over his lips, her eyes on his face. When she brushed tentatively over the cut on his lower lip it was Theron’s turn to let out a helpless little moan, and his response – pain, yet not pain, the obvious signs of his arousal pressing up against the curve of her ass as she nestled in his lap – made her green eyes darken. She pulled away again, an expression of confusion and worry on her face.

“You … like that?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” Theron admitted, his voice rough, “I do.”

“You like it when I hurt you,” Cassarie clarified, searching his face.

 _“Yes,”_ he said. He leaned in and brushed his lips over the soft skin of her neck, feeling her shiver under him. Gently he scraped his teeth over the same spot and Cassarie gave another little moan, her head falling back to expose more of her neck to him. “With the right person, under the right circumstances …” He caught some of her skin in his teeth, biting down softly, and she let out a breathless gasp. “It’s a good sort of pain.”

“I’m a Jedi,” Cassarie murmured, drawing back again, “I shouldn’t want this.”

“Then we’ll stop,” Theron replied simply, although it took every ounce of his self-control for him to pull away. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Cassarie eased cautiously off his lap, her eyes still dark and hungry. “I do, though – want this, I mean. With you. I want _you._ I’m just … I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Theron’s heart kicked up the pace a little at her admission – that she wanted him. A more foolish man might have been amused by her concerns that she might hurt him, but Theron knew that if Cassarie wanted to she could easily tear him apart. If he was being honest with himself, that was part of the allure: he’d always been drawn to danger, and what could be more dangerous than dallying with one of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy? Especially one who had just readily admitted that the thought of hurting him turned her on?

Damn, if that idea didn’t turn _him_ on, too. Theron’s wires had always gotten a little crossed when it came to pleasure and pain – as he’d said, with the right person, under the right circumstances …

But while Cassarie Roh might be the right person, Theron couldn’t argue that these were the right circumstances, not when he was on the verge of passing out and she was still in need of medical treatment herself – and never mind the fact that he still desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes, and while he was thinking about it, when was the last time he’d had anything to eat or drink? As much as Theron’s libido thought that it would be a grand idea to grab Cassarie and bend her over the holocomm station, his common sense – not to mention his nobler half – cautioned him that now was perhaps not the best time to instruct the Jedi in the spicier nuances of human sexuality.

“We should talk about this more,” he said finally, taking her hand in his. He smiled and kissed her palm lightly, inwardly thrilling at the way even that faint contact made her eyes go dark again. “Because I do want you” – _stars, you have no idea how much I want you_ – “but we should probably get you patched up first. And I need a shower.”

“And food,” Cassarie added, returning his smile with a shaky one of her own, some of her self-assurance restored. “And a heaping dose of painkillers.”

“That too,” Theron agreed with a nod. He pushed himself up off the chair, ignoring the numerous aches throughout his body, and bent to brush his lips over hers again. “Once all of that’s taken care of, though, and you’re back from dealing with the jammers … Then we’ll talk, okay?”

“Yes.” Cassarie nodded, doing her best to hide a sudden fit of nerves behind a knowing smirk. “We’ll … _talk.”_

_Stars help him._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/salaciouscrumpet


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